Eternity Ends
by Payton.Pride
Summary: Arthur is a schizophrenic 'loon' who rarely leaves home. Alfred is a sickly tenant on the floor above his. Both are lonely and confused, but it's said that not all who wander are really lost. UsUk yaoi rated M for mature themes. A bit of PruCan on the side. Previously titled 'In my Head'
1. Chapter 1

So this is my first UsUk story... er... Hetalia story in general. Please, please, _please_, tell me if you think any of them are out of character (well Arthur is an exception, he's kind of... messed up a bit *^*), or if the plot sounds uninteresting or boring. I really want to know what you readers think. So this chapter will be a lot shorter than the others because, well... It just is. The other ones will most likely be longer.

I don't own Hetalia *though I really wish I did*

Oh, and you'll notice Arthur will be changing his what's to 'whot's' I know how to spell, I'm doing the accent thing on purpose.

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**Chapter One**

**Tea and ****Groceries**

_The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost._  
_-Gilbert K. Chesterton_

* * *

Arthur Kirkland was a man who was seldom heard from and almost never seen. He was taunted all through his school years because of his _differences _and because of his issues at home, and once his parents died and left, the Briton never left his apartment unless it was to get groceries or to sit by the field he loved - mostly because it was beautiful and smelled like home - down the street.

He was also known as 'crazy', 'loon', 'fairy boy', and some other _hurtful, nasty _things that children came up with, though he hated to think of those _awful _words.

The voice in his head did that _for _him.

Balled up in a corner, the man, turning twenty-three in April, mumbled to what seemed to be himself. His head was a battlefield, constantly at war with itself. His mother's voice - oh how he _hated_ it - continued to taunt him and taunt him. _You good for nothing piece of shit. _He shook and screwed his eyes shut, exhaling shakily before the next onslaught came. _Everyone's out to get you. Everyone's out to get you. _

The morning sun burned through the curtains and lit up the room, and still, the Briton didn't move.

Pain, pain, pain. Everlasting agony that swam within his thoughts and tore through his eyes. Everything he saw, everything he touched. Arthur's whole existence was cursed. He whispered something unintelligible aloud, though even _he_ couldn't remember what it had been, and stood. Crevices under his eyes showed the little sleep he'd gotten that night; it had been maybe an hour or two against the wall that he'd slept.

The voices were always so much worse when he was alone, yet he preferred it that way. Like this, he wouldn't have to face the world. He'd keep getting money from his parent's old bank account, and there was no need to work. Like this, all he needed to do was stay indoors and he'd be safe.

Like this, there was no way for him to be hurt again.

Stumbling to the kitchen, Arthur blinked away tears he didn't even know he'd shed. Something was nagging in the back of his mind but he was sure it was just the voice ready to scream at him again. Everything hurt, and his hunger wasn't helping him one bit.

He opened the pantry to see that it was empty.

The refrigerator, empty.

The freezer, empty.

Letting out a growl of frustration, Arthur spun on his heels and raced for the door, barely snatching his keys before launching himself down the hallway. If he was going to walk to the store, he'd make it as quick as possible.

A shiver ran down his spine and thoughts of the Bad Touch Trio flitted through his mind. What _they _would do to him if they found him walking about the streets; he didn't even want to know.

The apartment was desolate like it always was; the only sound being the _tap tap tapping _of Arthur's shoes on wood. He rarely saw the other tenants of the building. Not only because he was becoming some sort of a recluse, but because the other people in the god-forsaken building were either out partying all the time or just like him in one way or another.

Turning the corner, the bushy-browed adult made his way down one flight of stairs and found himself in the lobby.

He'd almost forgotten what it looked like.

It wasn't like it was impressive or anything. In fact, it was probably the most dingy apartment he'd ever lived in. Yet the fact still remained that he'd been locked away in his room for so long that he'd forgotten about all the stains and peels in the wallpaper.

Now _that _was something that was hard to forget on its own.

Ignoring the woman at the desk, Arthur walked to the door and flung it open, almost blinding himself when the light struck his eyes. "Has the sun always been this bright?" He muttered to himself as he took a few steps away from his apartment building. Already, Arthur could feel his knees wobble.

Vulnerable. Someone could pounce and kill him _right now_. After all, the _voice_ always told him that the world was out to get him. There was no reason for it to lie, right? It's what he forced himself to believe anyway. Without that stray, flyaway thought, he'd be lost.

Even more lost than at that moment, staring at the blue sky - it was so bright - and surrounded by meandering people who he didn't even know. He'd be absolutely and utterly lost. Like a piece of scrap-paper caught in the fall breeze, or a kitten separated from its mother.

"And zen I said, 'I am ze most beautiful.' 'E tried to outshine moi, but 'e failed, of course. Everyone knows I am ze most gorgeous man alive."

That voice.

That voice.

"Honhonhon, is zat ze little gaylord over zere?"

Arthur made a run for it, his heart thumping as fast as his legs were carrying him.

Francis Bonnefoy. He hated the man's very existence. As the Briton ran, he began to curse under his breath. If _Francis _was there, that meant Gilbert and Antonio were as well. "Bloody fucking wankers! Twats! Oh_ god_ whot am I going to _do_?" He shook his head feebly in an attempt to push away the fact that _they_ were behind him. But as he slowed down, nearing the market only two blocks from the apartment, he noticed he wasn't being pursued in the first place.

Breathing the biggest sigh of relief imaginable, he slouched and shuffled over to the carts outside. _Better get this over with, yeah? _If it was food he needed, then it would be food that he'd get. Arthur knew he had a few hundred dollars stuffed in his pockets, because he always kept money in them. _Just in case. _This day had proved to him that his 'just in cases' were worth the effort after all.

The voice nagged at him again, but he succeeded in ignoring it.

The market was a quiet place that smelled like fast food - much to Arthur's vexation - and almost never had customers ambling about within its building. The Brit looked around and took a step into the chilled marketplace. A few older residence of the town were shopping, but Arthur didn't mind as long as he wasn't disturbed. Yet again, solitude seemed to be his one and only savior.

It always would be.

**X An optimist is a guy that has never had much experience. -Don Marquis X  
**

"Hey, Mattie! I wanna go outside. I'm really really bored!" An American nineteen-year-old, blond with half-rimmed glasses, groaned from where he sat on the couch. It seemed like the day was dragging on forever, and it was only nine a.m!

His brother, Matthew Williams, sighed and came out of the kitchen with a spatula still in his hand. He waved it around and said, "Al, you know you can't." His voice was much quieter than his, and Alfred almost couldn't hear him from across the room.

"Yeah, yeah. Doctor's orders and all that. But I wanna go outside," Alfred whined. "_Please?" _There was a silent battle that began; Alfred using his best puppy eyes while the Canadian stood almost unfazed by the door. A few seconds ticked by before Matthew suddenly sighed.

"Fine."

The American went for a victory dance, but his brother added; "You're only allowed to be gone for an hour. If you aren't home by then, I'm coming after you."

Alfred nodded and flashed him a smile. "Can do! I'll be back~!" He them proceeded to give him a thumbs-up before zooming out the door, dissolving in a fit of uncharacteristic giggles. It had been _days_ since he'd gone outside. Since he had caught a fever and had to stay in bed until it passed, he wasn't allowed outdoors until now.

Alfred F. Jones was a man who brightened up the atmosphere wherever he went. He got sick very easily, and was a bit weak sometimes, but he still stayed positive. He was like the sun, shining down on the world. The world that loved him so.

And he loved it back.

The nation he lived in was what brought him strength. America was so beautiful. America was so _free_. America was like him in many ways.

But Alfred couldn't see past beauty. All he could see was the blue sky and the blazing sun. He _never_ saw the bad in life.

And this was his fault. Being so optimistic all the time, he seemed to just be setting himself up for endless failure.

Alfred hummed a tune he'd made up on the spot, his feet taking him to a place unknown, even to himself. Such a peculiar man shouldn't have been able to survive, some would argue. Others would admire such a trait - such a _blindness _- but the American never listened to what people thought of him anyhow. He was just a wanderer lost to even his own mind.

Peculiar wasn't even the right world to describe such a man. Such an omnipotent being of his own accord could only be described as _unworldly_, or maybe even anomalous.

He stopped walking.

The man gazed upwards with a look of indifference written on his face. "The market?" He hummed thoughtfully before running his fingers through his hair almost unconsciously. Why here, of all places? His feet could have led him to the park, or that field down the street, or maybe even to the hospital. Out of the world he could explore and ravage with his blue eyes, he was led to the local grocery store.

That seemed strange, even to him.

A triumphant smile played on his lips as he took a step inside. Something in his mind screamed at him that _this was fate, there's a purpose for your visit here_. Because really, only an idiot like Alfred would believe such garbage. Something wanted him here, so he'd gladly satisfy that astronomical being by doing as it wished. Surely, only good could come from this trip, right?

"Out of my way, you_ fucking git_!"

Alfred was broken from his musings when he realized the British slang was directed at him. "Huh?" Standing dumbly, he stared at the _beautiful _man before him. Blond hair and emerald eyes, he had never seen such a sparkling creature. The bags under the Briton's eyes however, almost ruined the picture for him.

_Almost_.

Being as strange as always, he held out his hand to the stranger. "Alfred F. Jones, at your service."

The face that the man gave him was priceless. "Whot the bloody hell are you going on about, you arse? Out of my way, I have to be getting home now."

Alfred didn't budge, but only blocked the Briton's way yet again. "What's yur name?"

"It's, 'whot's your name,' not '_what's yur name'_ you twat. Like I said, out of my way."

After a minute of blocking the door, the stranger finally relented, setting his bags to the floor before shaking his hand as quick as he could before muttering: "Arthur Kirkland."

Alfred nodded and moved aside, kindly letting Arthur through. "Nice to meet you Artie."

"That's not my name. And bugger off!" Arthur scowled at Alfred as the sirens went off in his head. _Out to get you. Out to get you. Out to get you. Out to get you. _He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he waved to him in goodbye.

"Maybe I'll see you around sometime, _Artie!_" The American giggled and walked further into the store, while Arthur was trying his best to not erupt into flames.

And then, he yelled back, "IT'S ARTHUR!"

Yet somehow, making his way back to his apartment, the Brit found himself smiling.

"What a peculiar American."

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**So I promise you, even if this really sucked, it'll get better. Please review? Tell me if you hate it or not. You know. I just would appreciate if there were no flames -(._.-)**

**All that blablabla~**

**See you next time,**

**Payton outtie~**


	2. Chapter 2

So I still don't own Hetalia... surprised? I thought so. Oh man oh man thank you for the reviews. It makes me all happy to see that people actually read my stories, even if it's only a bit. I'm having my friend beta this chapter, so thank her as well. Timeforcookies~ **huehuehue that's me in the bold. my name is pretty nice too. well at least i think so**

~READ THIS IT'S IMPORTANT~

Research for this chapter: Schizophrenia is a type of mental illness known as a "psychosis." A psychosis is a mental illness in which a person cannot tell what is real from what is imagined. At times, people with psychotic illnesses lose touch with reality. The world may seem like a jumble of confusing thoughts, images, and sounds.

People with schizophrenia may have a number of psychotic symptoms. These symptoms can come and go in phases, or they can happen only once or twice in a lifetime. When the illness begins, psychotic symptoms are usually sudden and severe.

During psychotic phases, the person may still understand parts of reality. He or she may lead a somewhat normal life, doing basic activities such as eating, working and getting around. This explains why Arthur can do a few normal tasks and still survive. Anyone can get schizophrenia. In men, psychotic symptoms often begin in the teens or 20s. In women, psychotic symptoms often begin in the 20s and 30s.

People with schizophrenia often lack awareness that their difficulties stem from a mental illness that requires medical attention. So it often falls to family or friends to get them help. So in this story, Peter will show up soon (do not fret) and of course, Arthur probably doesn't really understand the severity of his situation.

With Alfred, he has a sort of autoimmunity disease (well that's the most accurate, type of thing I could find). Our bodies have an immune system that protects us from disease and infection. But if you have an autoimmune disease, your immune system attacks itself by mistake, and you can get sick. Autoimmune diseases can affect connective tissue in your body (the tissue which binds together body tissues and organs). Autoimmune disease can affect many parts of your body, like your nerves, muscles, endocrine system (system that directs your body's hormones and other chemicals), and digestive system.

That's all the research for this chapter.

**Chapter Two**

**Broken Glass and a Second Meeting**

_The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears._

_~John Vance Cheney_

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Arthur didn't sleep a wink that night.

Of course, sleep rarely graced him in general, so it didn't come a much of a surprise. But it still irked him all the same. It made it nearly ten times worse that the only thing he could think about was that damn American.

How Alfred had gotten under his skin with such little effort was beyond Arthur. The more he thought about the younger man, the more disgusted he felt. Frustration made his sight go blurry and red, and the next thing the Brit knew, he was slouching against the wall with a bloody hand and one less picture frame in his apartment.

"Stupid fucking twat," he murmured nearly to himself as he went to the bathroom to patch up his stinging hand, "That was the third one this month and it's all_ his_ fault."

Something devious whispered from within him, "Alfred wasn't at fault, it is Arthur who needs to control his anger." The Briton scoffed and reached into his cabinets to grab the gauze. He groped around before finally tugging it out.

Who did Alfred think he was anyway? With that carefree expression, with those blue eyes brighter than ice in the sun- Arthur couldn't think of anything to compare them to, yet he knew it didn't do Alfred justice - and that _smile_. That smile that sent his heart fluttering even though his mind screamed that the American was evil just like everyone else.

He didn't want to believe it even though he knew it was so.

The man continued to unhappily wrap his hand, wincing slightly as the material dissolved into and rubbed slightly against the torn, mutilated skin. But soon enough Arthur had succeeded in wrapping his left hand snugly and was putting away the remaining gauze. His eyes fluttered up and his heart nearly stopped.

His reflection.

The Kirkland honesty didn't know what it was about his image that elicited such a strong reaction from him, but he found himself locked in the dead gaze he called his own all the same. Bags under flat, sightless eyes void of life and color. Hair matted and dull. Skin pale and pasty, almost translucent.

He truly looked like a zombie. He was grotesque, ugly, and horrible; inside _and _out.

Finally, he tore his gaze away and flinched as shouting began to ring in his head._ Waste of space! You're a fucking disgrace, you wanker! _Really, he ignored it to the best of his abilities. But it was hard. So _hard._ And in this endless tunnel of darkness he dared call life, there seemed to be no end in sight.

His eyes fell on a discarded knife on the carpet. He could do it. He could _do_ it. Leave the taunts, the fear, the worry, the real world. Arthur couldn't tear his eyes away from the innocent-looking gleam of the blade. Just one little pinch to a vital artery was all it took. Just one small slash and it would be over, and he'd finally escape the war in his head.

But then, reality grasped him again and he felt foolish for thinking he'd _ever_ deserve the easy way out.

No.

Arthur Kirkland was a man who was dead set on suffering.

And the funny thing was; he didn't like pain. Not one bit.

Until the sun came up, he sat in his corner and took the abuse in his head like it was no big deal.

It wasn't, after all.

It was normal.

He was just one human out of billions.

Thus, he was nothing special. And thus, his problems were of no significance to anyone. So why should they be significant to himself? There were starving children in Africa, for God's sake!

Arthur stomped out the doubt that crept in his mind and told himself that that was how it would always be. Forever.

**X It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace X**

"Al, get some sleep."

The American tossed and turned again before settling on his back to glare at the ceiling, "I can't get him out of my head," he groaned, "Help, Mattie!"

Matthew raised an eyebrow, "I'm not sure I follow."

"When I was out I met this _awesome_ British dude, and I can't get him out of my head now!" Sighing, he gazed over at his brother and groaned, "Help. I don't know what's happening."

Matthew rolled his eyes at Alfred's elongated drawl and went back into the kitchen.

The American's groaning was loud and getting progressively louder, even in the blasted kitchen, "Al! Please be quiet, you'll disrupt the neighbors!"

Alfred took a quick pause from his fit to stress, "We barely even_ have_ neighbors!" He tossed and turned on the couch again. "Help me, Mattie!"

Once again, the Canadian could barely withhold an eye roll.

"You know what this is, don't you, Mattie?" Alfred asked, "It's fate."

He shook his head, "Just when I think you couldn't get any stranger, you go and spout nonsense. What the heck, Al? Are you out to get me or something? Jeez," He could hear Alfred from the kitchen. _Still_. It was ridiculous. "Why was he so special, eh?"

There was no answer from the living room but the rustling of sheets and the sound of a dull thud. It only occurred to Matthew that Alfred had chosen the floor over the couch. After a terse moment of silence, the American said, somewhat uncertainly, "I like his eyes."

"What?" Out of all things. Out of all the _fucking _things he could of liked about the Briton, why'd it have to be the eyes? What even made them _special_? How stupid. And _cheesy_.

The soft patter of footsteps broke Matthew out of his stupor and he looked towards the door to see Alfred unlocking and unbolting it. "I'll be back in a bit, Mattie," Just as he was about to be home free, Matthew caught him by the elbow.

"Al, it's nearly midnight. Go take your medicine and go to sleep."

"Aw, but I'm not-" He rightfully shut up as soon as his brother fixed him with a soft, barely intimidating glare.

"I have school tomorrow," Matthew reminded him sternly, "That means no stove, no going outside, and no answering the door without permission."

Alfred groaned, "You make me sound like some sort of kid."

"Maybe because that's what you are when it boils down to it," The shy man retorted softly as he dragged Alfred back inside and locked the deadbolt, "And I mean it, Alfred F. Jones. If I come home and you aren't here, I'll be pretty pissed," They grumbled around for a while; and at exactly ten past midnight, pills were shoved down Al's throat. Just like always. Some were for pain, others were for his fevers and colds, and some were for things he didn't even know about. It was funny to him - almost - that he could be pumped full of drugs _day after day _and yet he'd still agree to more.

He debated on whether or not he was a masochist as he fell asleep that night, a certain British man still burning into his thoughts like a branding iron.

**X A friend is someone who knows you and loves you all the same -Elbert Hubbard X**

Arthur blinked the sleep from his eyes and stretched. A bone in his back made a strange, unnatural popping sound, but he payed it little to no mind to it as he stood on wobbly legs. It was a new day, and it was time to lounge about and do nothing but surf the internet. Yes, it sounded like a very productive day in hindsight.

...

Well, he had nothing to do. Nothing at all. The internet seemed to suffice.

And that was that.

...

Arthur had to pinch his ear when Alfred's face flew into is thoughts. _Do not think of him, you git. Think of embroidery. Or... fancy hats. Something other than that stupid American._ His mind seemed to be leaving him alone for the time being, and for that, he was grateful. He didn't need to sit through another breakfast with tears running down his face- oh, how helpless he was- any longer. For the day, he seemed to be safe.

Just as he deemed that thought to be true, he thought he smelled something from the kitchen.

"Mother?"

He stood up and ventured past the dining table that blocked his path.

_"Why luv, how was school? Learn anything new?" She was baking bread in the oven._

_He'd respond with, "It was fine. My teachers are twats, though."_

_"Language!"_

_"Sorry, Mum."_

_They'd eat a snack and talk before Father got home._

Just like that, the hallucination was cut off and Arthur was left to crumple to the floor, a disoriented illusion still bending and twisting the realities of his world.

Oh, how he missed his childhood.

He decided that today, he'd go in to town to see if he could find that bloody American once again.

Damn. As paranoid as he was, Arthur still wanted to see him. _You pathetic swine, how could you want to go outside? People will hurt you. They'll kill you. They're all watching you. Waiting for you to let your guard down so they can eat you whole. _Arthur blinked and stuttered for a few minutes before picking up his keys and praying to whatever he believed in that he wouldn't run into the_ frog_ while he was out. After all, the odds of him running into the Bad Touch Trio were pretty slim, right? Right?

The morning was cloudy and smelled of rain; like the early beginnings of a storm. Arthur chose the safest route he knew of through the alleyways and cut straight into town without a hitch. It seemed to be a good day for him, if you didn't count the constant presence of a headache in his skull. He looked around a bit and wondered briefly how long it would take to get back to that market. Surely, he was close; after all, it wasn't more than ten minutes away from the apartment. He whistled for about two, fretted for about three, and looked completely indifferent for one. Only four minutes from the market he was slammed into the side of the alley, and sirens began to blare in his already pounding skull.

"Oh look, it seems like I've gotten a little stray."

Arthur went frigid and choked. "Get o-off of me, you bloody frog."

Francis leaned to his ear and breathed into it, "Why would I do zat, eh, Arthur?" As far as the Briton could tell, Gilbert and Antonio weren't there, but having the Frenchman this close _hurt,_ "You look so cute _against a wall_."

Arthur sucked in another breath as Francis's knee dug into his groin, "I swear, Francis. Get off of me before you do something you regret-"

"Why would I do zat, _mon cheri_?" Francis licked the outside of Arthur's neck and went lower, lower, _lower_. The Briton wanted it to stop; he thought his retched sobs and weak thrashing were a sign of that, but the frog just kept going with no remorse for his pain, "All of your body should be all my property."

"No! Let me go you bastard! Off of me now, git! Bugger! Arse! Wanker! Fucking frog!" He thrashed as Francis pushed his knee farther up.

Just as his shirt was being unbuttoned, there was the sound of slow footsteps approaching and the melodious singing of America's national anthem, "Oh! Hey, Arthur! Long time no see!"

He looked to the side to see Alfred; as stupid as always with a hulk shirt on and ripped jeans. Arthur tried for a chuckle, "It's only been a day, idiot."

Then, the Frenchman continued his assault. Only after that did Alfred realize what was happening. "H-Hey! Get away from him, man! Can't you tell he doesn't want to be touched like that?"

Francis looked up and grinned wickedly, nearly dropped Arthur to the ground in the process. "Ohonhonhon, who are you~?"

"I'm the hero."

**X You cannot be a hero without being a coward. -George Bernard Shaw X**

To be honest, Alfred wasn't supposed to be outside. The weather wasn't the best and his health wasn't doing too well either, but he really, _really _wanted to see Arthur again. Call him strange, but he truly thought the Briton was a beautiful guy once you got past how sick he looked.

He wasn't gay. No, not at all. But he wanted to know the older guy with all of his heart and sincerity. So when he saw him pinned up against the alley, he didn't know what to think. Anger, fear, and something else he didn't know of coursed through him all at once. His blood thudded in his ears and his vision went red and a little hazy. Plastering on a friendly smile, he said; "I'm the hero."

The blond holding Arthur up to the wall looked a little lost, but soon enough, a deranged smile made its way onto his face, "Is that so?" He asked venomously, biting out a curse as the Briton broke out of his grasp, "And who are you to say that? Such a silly, obnoxious word. A hero? Nonsense," He stepped toward Alfred, blocking Arthur from his view. "All _I_ see is an obnoxious little boy with a complex far too large to be normal for his age."

"Bollocks. Alfred, get out of here!" He scrambled from the ground and tried to stand, "Don't be an idiot, Alfred. Run!"

"A bit too late for that," He admitted with a wry chuckle, a loose cough escaping his lips. He turned to Francis and grinned despite himself, "I'm Alfred F. Jones; and I'd kindly appreciate it if you stepped away from my buddy, Arthur, over there."

Francis scoffed and turned his head, "And why would I do zat? I could pound 'im right into ze wall right 'ere, right now. 'Ow would you stop me zen, hm?"

He could see the American falter and doubt himself, but almost instantly, the determination burned in his eyes once again, "I'll do everything in my power to stop you, jerk-wad. Mark my words, you _will not_ touch Arthur."

The Frenchman backed away slowly with his hands up in surrender, "Hm, fine, fine. I need to meet Gilbert and Antonio at the nearby coffee shop in a bit anyway," He winked at Arthur, "Maybe next time," The bushy-browed man knew he'd rather _die_ than sleep with that putrid bastard.

Alfred frowned as he grasped Arthur's hand, "Hey dude, you okay?"

"A-Ah, yes. I assure you, I'm fine."

The American gave him a warm smile, but Arthur could see through it.

"That's good. Hey, whad'ya say about going to get some Mickey D's?"

Arthur nodded, not sure what to do with himself, and allowed his new friend to pull him towards the restaurant he hated so much with a dumb smile pulling at his lips.

But still, Alfred's hand shook in his, and he new the younger man was terrified.

And for that, he felt guilty he'd pulled someone so innocent into this mess he called life.

If someone else was harmed because of him- why, the Kirkland didn't know if he could ever forgive himself.

* * *

So tell me what you think! Sorry about the extensive research shit at the beginning, but some people aren't too familiar with this mental illness, so I thought I'd spare some people the confusion.

Review answers:

Lilly Virus: Glad you think so! Thanks~

Mandaar: I'm trying to make it as original as possible, but as they say, there are no new ideas. So I'll try to keep surprising everyone.

Culzean: I love quotes so much it isn't even funny. And you're brilliant as well, brilliant person

and Heather: Lay off gurl, I'll do whatevs I want

TBC

**Barely had to beta this except for a few grammatical mistakes. ddaaaMMMMIIITTT PAYTON! YOU'RE TOO GOOD! AND YOU MOST CERTAINLY WILL NOT DO WHAT YOU WANT! oh yeah don't forget to check out my profile and my story *promotion for myself is always an A+***


	3. Chapter 3

Hello again~ Thanks for clicking on the chapter, person ^^ I still don't own Hetalia, surprise surprise. I thank each individual who takes time to review this story~ It really means a lot! Thanks to my beta, you're awesome Timeforcookies. Heatherrrrrr, thank you! **Yes, yes, I know I'm awesome.**

Research for this chapter:

For Arthur:

People mistake, overemphasize, or underestimate certain symptoms of schizophrenia. The greatest misconception (64%) is that "split or multiple personalities" are symptoms of schizophrenia. Symptoms such as drug abuse (24%), alcohol abuse (23%), insomnia (41%), and disorganized speech (35%) are also not widely recognized.

Violent behavior as a symptom was selected by 60% of the public, which represents a fundamental fault line in how Americans view schizophrenia and other mental illnesses. Ironically, most individuals with schizophrenia are not prone to violence; they typically withdraw from social interaction and simply prefer to be left alone.

The U.S. Surgeon General reported ten years ago that although some research exists to support public concern, "the overall likelihood of violence is low" and the "overall contribution of mental disorders to the total level of violence in society is exceptionally small." The "greatest risk" is from persons dually diagnosed with both a mental illness and a substance abuse disorder. There is also a "small elevation of risk" for persons with severe disorders such as psychosis, "especially if they are noncompliant with their medication."

Public attitudes toward people living with schizophrenia hinge on whether or not those people are receiving treatment. People are inclined to "distance themselves" dramatically from people not receiving treatment. Even though people understand that schizophrenia is a medical illness, the survey indicates that there are limits to openness.

Alfred: I don't really have anything else. His illness is a lot less 'serious' (by that, I mean complicated) than Arthur's

Allergies are also an "immune system mistake."

"For some reason, in people with allergies, the immune system strongly reacts to an allergen that should be ignored. The allergen might be a certain food, or a certain type of pollen, or a certain type of animal fur. For example, a person allergic to a certain pollen will get a runny nose, watery eyes, sneezing, etc." thus, you can probably tell Al's going to have a lot of allergies *sniffles* sorry Alfred, but the hero's not going to be the biggest actor in this story! Sigh.

* * *

**Chapter Three**

Amusement Parks and McDonald's

_You learn to like someone when you find out what makes them laugh, but you can never truly love someone until you find out what makes them cry._

* * *

Arthur couldn't fathom why he was dealing with Alfred in the first place. Why he was sitting with him at a McDonalds? He couldn't fathom. Why was he drinking disgusting fountain drinks? He couldn't fathom. All he could gather was that the American was chatting happily to him; yapping out pleasantries and holding a one-sided conversation that Arthur was barely listening to. The Briton wasn't positive if it was even real. The possibility of the situation being something caused by his sick imagination was far too large for Arthur's liking.

Alfred tapped the palm of his upturned hand and a jolt of electricity surged through his arm. It seemed like the poor lad was just trying to get his attention, but he only succeeded in startling him, "Hey buddy, you alright?"

Arthur glared, though it wilted a bit when he looked at the boy, "My name is Arthur, not 'buddy'. Please never make that mistake again."

Alfred laughed like he'd heard the most hilarious joke in the whole world; a deep, joyous laugh that came from his stomach and made the air lighter.

Arthur could feel his muddled sight become a _smidgen_ clearer, though his thoughts still swam and his vision still blurred a bit. He'd been at death's door multiple times prior, but never knocked. His life was a messy roller coaster of events and emotions he could never escape. But this man made the room clearer and more enjoyable in perspective.

Alfred shook his head after he stopped laughing, "Man, you're a riot," He then proceeded to munch on his _fat, greasy, and unbelievably disgusting _fast food. Arthur shook his head. How someone could actually _enjoy_ this rubbish was far beyond him.

"Git."

Alfred glanced back up at him, his glasses shining underneath the luminous light above. "So where d'ya live, _Arthur_?"

The Brit - baffled- didn't respond. He blinked and tilted his head slightly to the side while his mind screamed and screamed and _screamed_ at him._ Don't tell him. Tell him._**_ Don't tell him. Tell him. _**Arthur didn't know what answer he wanted to settle with, so he stood up- a confused mess- and made a beeline for the door.

When Alfred wasn't buzzing and talking in Arthur's ear, he could hear all of the murmuring around and about him. All of the people in the whole bloody town thought he would "hurt someone one of these days" or "cause an accident soon" as if he were a child; but just because he wasn't right in the head didn't mean he'd go killing people at every turn-

Someone grabbed his arm, making all of his hair stand on end and a slight girlish yelp come from the back of his throat.

"Hey, relax, Artie. It's just me," Alfred was behind him, sheepishly scratching at the back of his neck while his other bony hand grabbed Arthur's equally thin wrist. After a few tugs on his part, the Brit realized the blasted American probably wouldn't be letting go anytime soon, so he stopped struggling. The worry swam in Al's eyes, "Sorry, man. Did I say something?"

"U-uh," Arthur looked away from his piercing eyes, "No, no. Of c-course not. I just have to be getting home now."

"Then I'll walk ya home," Alfred chirped, his grin coming back full force. The man gave him a testing look and he chuckled. "There's no _way_ I'm letting ya walk alone after you were almost molested-" the Briton flinched at the crude word "-in an alleyway! Ha ha!"

"Your vocabulary is atrocious," Arthur groaned. He accepted the fact the young man wouldn't be leaving him alone, the realization drawing out a desolate sigh. It seemed like he was stuck with him for the time being.

They stepped outside into the sunlight at once.

"Where do you live?" Alfred asked again. His hands were stuffed in his pockets and his smile was wide enough to split his face in two.

Arthur scowled at the ground, "It's on Baker street."

"Really? That's where my place is, too! Well, I mean, it's an apartment, not_ my_ place, but I_ live_ in the place!" He grinned again and laughed.

The Brit couldn't stand Alfred's happy attitude because _he_ was so miserable. Why did he have to be so damn happy, while Arthur was here, emotionally broken? Call him selfish, rude, ignorant, any name in the book, but he didn't want to be sad anymore. He didn't want to live the rest of his life with this black, void heart that tugged at his insides at every moment of every day. When Alfred laughed and smiled, it just reminded him of what was missing. What he didn't _have_. What he so badly_ wanted_ to have. He felt bad, but he barely ever had rein over his thoughts. They were like a raging tsunami or an empowered tornado. They couldn't be stopped.

They'd never stop.

Arthur answered the boy with a small hum, but otherwise stayed silent. He vaguely sensed that he had begun talking again, but honestly, he wasn't listening. Not even three minutes later, Alfred had started to hum a silly, moronic tune. Two minutes past that, he began to sing it. The Briton smashed the boy's foot under his heel to make him quiet.

He didn't make a peep.

For a few more moments, that is.

"Hey Artie, what place on Baker street do you live at?"

Arthur gave a hesitant shrug, "The second one to the corner."

He tried to wriggle out of the American's vice grip, but was held fast. Alfred gasped, and he heard the sound of the boy bouncing excitedly on his heels, "Oh my God, that's where I live too! Floor three, room 302!"

"Do you really think it's wise to tell strangers your room number?" Arthur raised an eyebrow. Really, the guy was such a prat.

"Aw, but you're not a stranger, Artie!"

"I beg to differ."

Arthur's mind was whirling and spinning in and out of focus. A torrent of _"why, why, why, why, why, why" _assaulted his wracking head. Oh, how he _hated_ this. The Brit already had Peter to deal with, but now Alfred? Now he had _another _insufferable child to deal with? Oh, _God_, not _another_. Granted, Alfred wasn't necessarily a _child_, but he sure as hell behaved like one. Thus, he was a child- at least on _some_ level. The whole way to the apartment complex, Alfred was latched onto his shoulder, crooning of how _"amazing it was to have a friend less than minutes away"_. All Arthur could think about was how horrible it would be to have a neighbor- or, even another person- who actually got involved with his life.

He was used to seclusion and isolation. Never before had he gotten involved with other people besides Peter and his dead parents. Oh, how he _hated _living. It was just a game filled with hiding and hate, losing and finding. It was just never ending game of cat and mouse. This game was called life, and the man was honestly sick of it. Where were the cheats for this game? What had he ever gained from it's cruel existence, anyway? What had he ever earned or received from it's evil reality? Nothing. So what more could he get from it?

Alfred left him at his apartment door, cheerily giving a goodbye in the process.

Arthur nodded, already dreading their next confrontation.

He was too messed up to have friends.

They'd all leave him eventually.

And that was a hard, cold fact.

One Arthur surprisingly minded.

**X Friends are those rare people who ask how we are and then wait to hear the answer. X**

When Arthur got inside, he went into the kitchen, bringing out his kettle. Humming a tune his mother used to sing to him- which he rarely ever did- he set it on the stove. Without Alfred, his mind was left to wander yet again, which was never a good thing, to parts of his mind unexplored. Alfred, the innocent soul who had daringly saved him from Francis. The boy who was as old as a man and who was as skinny as a pole. The childish blonde who seemed to _genuinely _want to be his friend.

_He just wants to hurt you. He's trying to get close to you so he can rip you apart from the inside, just like every other person, you little shit. Who would ever want to get close to _you_?_

And he believed his mother's hollow voice. Because she had never lied to him before.

Why would she?

She was his mother, after all.

And mothers always know what's best for their children, right?

...

His thoughts went right back to Alfred. Why was he _trying _to be friends with him? Why? Why, why, why?

A phone started ringing, and he reluctantly crossed the room to answer it.

_**KIRKLAND, PETER**_

_**310-555-8392**_

He picked up the phone as soon as he saw who it was. Peter. _His_ Peter. Oh, how he'd missed him. Oh, how he'd _missed him!_ His voice caught in his throat as he placed the phone to his ear.

Arthur's breath was thunder in his ears, "Peter?"

"_A-Arthur!_" The voice was happy and light, just like he'd remembered it. His heart soared, and a smile tugged at his lips. It was real! Arthur wasn't used to real smiles. Only fake ones. And even those were a rarity.

He couldn't stop the tears of happiness that stung the corners of his eyes, "Ah, how have you been, little lad?"

Peter shouted into the receiver indignantly, "_I'm already twelve, I'm not a 'little lad' anymore, you jerk!_"

The Briton chuckled a bit and wandered back into the kitchen as the kettle began to shout, "I suppose you aren't. But you didn't answer my question. How have you been? You haven't called me in ages!"

His brother's voice fell a little flat and he could hear him very lowly mutter,_ "Well Mum never lets me call 'cause she says you're crazy..." _Though he immediately sounded chipper once again, "_I've been great! School started last week and my teacher is really, really great! Her name is Elizaveta, and she's from Hungary! That's so far away! Oh, oh, I also made a new friend from Latvia and we've been hanging out a lot lately and he's so cool and he-_"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, lad. You're talking my ear off."

He heard a slight giggle, "_Sorry. How have _you _been? Meet anyone special recently?"_

Arthur's face flushed at the implication. _Alfred,_ "What are you _talking_ about?"

"_You know... A girlfriend? A boyfriend?"_

He said the last part so suggestively that the Brit just blushed even harder, "_NO._ I mean- no, of course not! Why do you ask?"

"_Well, my Latvian friend - I told you about him- he's kinda like an older brother to me - told me about-"_

Arthur cleared his throat to signal he wanted to drop the topic. Peter dropped it, much to his older brother's happiness. He didn't _want_ to go into such a weird conversation with his _younger sibling._ Peter laughed again and paused for a second, "_Mum says she's finally agreed to let me spend the weekend with you! So can I come by on Friday night? Can I? Can I? Oh, please, oh, please, please, please?!_"

"Yes, of course. I'll just have to tidy up a bit," A smile made its way onto Arthur's face. He was finally seeing Peter. After five whole years, he was _finally _seeing his brother again. He thanked the Lord, the Buddha, the downstair neighbors having sex; he thanked every possible God and the moment with all his heart because he'd _finally_ be able to see Peter again. _Finally._ But he'd have to get on cleaning, order some edible food, and think of some things to do. Oh, how he missed Peter. Though his gut twisted when he remembered their horrible separation.

"_No! It's not fair! I don't want to leave him! He's my brother!" Peter held Arthur's hand. Tightly._

_"He's mentally unstable," Peter was being dragged away. "He'll hurt you if we leave you with him. That's how crazy people work."_

_The Brit argues, tears streaming down his face. "No! I won't hurt him! I won't! I won't! I wouldn't dream of hurting him! He's my bloody brother!"_

_They still drag him away._

_Peter is screaming, thrashing, kicking, growling. Trying so hard to just get away and go to his brother._

_Arthur is sobbing. Dying inside, because everything and everyone was gone._

_His parents were gone._

_His brother was gone._

_He was truly alone in a world where most people didn't care about him or whether or not he existed._

_Deranged sobs echoed in the empty space he once called a home._

_Alone. All alone. Forever._

Arthur gasped lightly as he was pulled- quite forcefully- into the present. His heart thumped wildly and his vision was blurry from crying. His smile from before was gone, and Peter was shouting through the phone, "_Dummy, you still there? Arthur? Arthur? Arthuuuuuurrrrr?"_

"I don't know, maybe it wouldn't be the wisest of decisions for you to come over..." he rasped out, squeezing his eyes closed.

"_I know you won't hurt me, you dumby. I'll be over at eight on Friday night. See you then, jerk England." _The friendly and joking insult made Arthur's frown diminish into a small smile.

"Yeah, you brat. See you then."

If Peter believed in him, he supposed he should too.

After all, the boy was all he had left.

_You'll end up killing him like everyone says you fucking idiot. You can't do anything right, so you sure as hell will find a way to mess up the only thing you have left, you swine._

He shook and ignored the voice, pouring himself a steaming cup of tea to clear his thoughts.

Earl gray.

His mother used to make it for him.

He breathed in.

He breathed out.

Sometimes, he thought about her.

But the thoughts were never _too _pleasant. So he simply shook them away.

He took a sip.

Oh, how his life had changed...

**X There's no right or wrong when one chooses to be happy. It's just a battle between one's own happiness and the judgment of others. X**

Matthew shook his head in disgruntlement as Alfred went on, and on, and _on _about his new British friend that, apparently, lived on the floor below theirs. He went back into the kitchen, the sweet yet irritating sound of his brother's chatter filling his ears as he groped around the cabinets, feeling for the medication. He knocked over an orange bottle and watched it clatter to the ground with a curse, "Goddammit," Thankfully, the lid had been screwed on, and the plastic hadn't broke.

The Canadian sighed and shook two pills into his smooth and small hand. He grabbed a tall glass of water and shuffled back into the living room, "I'm still mad at you, Al," He deadpanned, sending an empty glare in Alfred's direction. Like a kicked puppy, the American slumped at the look and glanced at him with big eyes.

"I'm sorry, Mattie."

Matthew sighed. Why did his sibling have to be so damn adorable when he used that look?

"Fine, I forgive y-" the door bell rang and the Canadian jumped a foot in the air, "-_MAPLE!_"

Alfred laughed at the word Matthew yelled when he was scared, "Yay! So you forgive me for leaving, Mattie?"

His brother nodded and walked over to the door, nearly tripping over his feet in the process.

"Ze awesome me is tired of vaiting, Birdie!"

Matthew groaned lightly and opened the door. "Hello, Gilbert. What do you want?"

The supposedly Prussian man grinned wickedly and pulled him out of the door with a cackled, "You." Matthew blushed about fifty shades of red. Gilbert looked at Alfred, "I'll have him back tomorrow probably. Ze awesome me needs a whole night vith my Birdie~!" He purred, brushing the small of Matthew's back.

Alfred blushed as well as the door was slammed, "Don't you dare go outside, Al! I'll find out, I swear! Doctor's orders, remem-" Matthew was cut off by his own loud moan.

The American hid his face into his pillow at the sound. Gross. Gilbert gave a chuckle, and their footsteps soon receded into nothingness. It was quiet.

Alfred stood, downed the pills, drank the glass of water, and stuffed his feet into his shoes.

He was going back to Arthur.

Even if he had to knock on every door in the building, he'd find the man's room again, since he hadn't been paying attention last time.

After all, he was the hero, right? It was time for the hero to make an appearance!

* * *

**X**

And no, Peter's number is not real. c: **Duh, Payton. It has 555 in it. **Shush Heather I was joking garssshhhh

Review answers:

Rena Suede- Loony Arthur is so fun to write. Glad you like it, though!

Mandaar- Yeah, I'm trying to help people understand the illness a bit , and I don't want people asking me questions, haha. But yeap, I think that it's important that the readers also know what it's all about.

Culzean- self promotion is the best. You know it!

I am but a 13-year-old fangirl. So forgive me if I make any mistakes. We all do time-to-time~ **Pfft. I corrected all of them I think.**

**And oh god Payton. Fifty shades of red? Are you serious? This story is not about bondage, missy! (A damn shame it isn't, in fact...) **_(oh yeah check out my story please ^^) Yeah, she has a great GerIta going on. Promotion promotion promotion. _

_Holy shite you know I can't write heavy sex/smut. Omahgawd I wish I could though holy moly *^*_

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

Hello again~ How're you all doing? Good? I hope so. Well, there isn't really any research in this chapter, you see... And it isn't really a filler, but it border-lines one. And I'm disappointed in you all (not really) - I didn't get too many reviews. *^* Please, if you read, review? All that do get to go skinny dipping with Denmark.

A few facts for you to understand it a bit more;

Schizophrenics tend to show such symptoms:

• A person's face may seem immobile  
and unresponsive  
• They may display poor eye contact  
• They may show reduced body language

I don't own Hetalia, if you've guessed already, then you get a little internet cookie.

This chapter is un-betated AND late, please forgive meee.

And I'm not proud of this chapter at all ;-; sorry. I'm making Arthur some sort of wuss... Sigh. Don't blame me. Eugh.

**Chapter Four**

Arthur _finally _goes to the Amusement Park

_Anxiety, it just stops your life._  
_-Amanda Seyfried_

* * *

Alfred grinned down at Arthur with a sly, almost predatory grin adorning his features. The Briton almost thought it was impossible for cheery people to _make_ such horrifying faces; but he was proved wrong almost as soon as he opened his door. The annoying twat had come back to his apartment, for Pete's sake! He had things to do for once. He had to learn to cook decent meals - though Arthur knew that wasn't happening anytime soon- and he had to plan for his brother's visit. "I haven't got time for this," he said irritably.

"Aw, but Artie, you have to get exercise, you'll get chubby if you stay in all the time, dude!" Alfred absently went to touch Arthur's stomach to see if he had any fat on him, but his hand was swatted away with a bit of unnecessary rage on the Brit's part.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. Were they _always_ that thick? "_I'll _get chubby? Excuse me, but I don't think I'm the one stuffing greasy _trash_ in my face every five minutes." It took him a second to realize he hadn't commented on the use of his name. He added, albeit a bit snidely, "It's Arthur." The man made a move to slam the door closed, but a foot had wedge its way between. Alfred. Why was Alfred doing this? Why was he trying? This man - this _idiotic child_- was slowly ruining his life. He was too blind, too _blind _and _naïve _to realize it.

"W-wait, Artie!"

This time, Arthur didn't even make a move to correct him; he just tried slamming the door shut again, succeeding _only_ in further injuring his friend. It didn't seem like Alfred would be relenting anytime soon on his decision. The American was still grinning at him through the crack in the door, though a bit of pain tinged his smile in a sad and bitter way. "I'm serious. I'm not leaving until you like, ya know, come with me and stuff."

"Your English is still the most disgraceful thing I've ever had the displeasure of hearing." Arthur backed into his apartment, leaving a bit of a leeway for Alfred to squeeze in through. The younger man had begun to bounce on his heels again - it seemed like he did this when he was excited - and looked around with a gleam in his eyes.

It didn't seem like the guy had realized he'd just been insulted.

Stupid Americans.

Arthur scoffed once his back was turned to his 'guest'. "So I have no choice in the matter? It's getting late, tosser. I need sleep too, you know. Not everyone can be as bright and bushy-tailed as you are."

Alfred quirked a small smile, "Yeah, you have a choice. But I have a... sneaking suspicion you'd come with me either way." As an afterthought, he added; "It doesn't look like you get much sleep anyway, Artie." Arthur almost flushed. _Almost. _He huffed and grabbed a coat off the rack by the door.

"It's none of your business, anyway."

"I never said it _was_ my business."

Arthur cursed. When had Alfred become so sassy and sarcastic? It was really starting to piss him off, and the inclining urge to yell at the git in front of him was steadily rising. _Breathe, breathe. _"Fine." He buttoned up his coat and held the door open for Alfred with a small scowl. As soon as he was out, he followed briskly in suit, slamming the door in his wake. It was going to be a long night.

He wouldn't have any fun with this man. Alfred was childish. He was annoying and he was positively _retarded. _Yet, he still had chosen to go the the bloody amusement park with him. "You better pay for my blooming ticket."

Alfred chuckled beside him. "Of course, Artie. Wouldn't have it any other way."

Arthur elbowed him in the ribs. "It's Arthur. God, how many times do I have to tell you that?"

Alfred just grinned flagrantly in response.

It would be a very long night indeed.

**X You can never control who you fall in love with, even when you're in the most sad, confused time of your life. You don't fall in love with people because they're fun. It just happens. -****Kirsten Dunst X**

After ten minutes of walking, they had lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Neither of them had anything to say, and even if one of them did, the tension in the air prevented conversations from even surfacing. Arthur couldn't remember what the snippets of conversation had even been about. It was just a long, blurred walk to the amusement park, which he knew was about twenty more minutes away - it seemed like the git didn't even have a car, and Arthur wasn't trusted with one, so the keys to his were still with Peter's _damn_ 'mother'.

Arthur then noticed that Alfred was limping. Disgust ran through him as they continued to walk. _That was your fault. See? You only hurt the people around you by existing. You hurt him. You'll hurt him again. Just watch. Just you watch. _He shook his head. He shook it with a vain hope that the voice was wrong. That it was wrong, wrong, _wrong_. He'd never meant to smash his foot that hard. He had just wanted Alfred to leave him alone! Before he could ask if the lad was alright, Alfred cut in. "What's your favorite color?"_  
_

"Whot? That's completely random. Not a relevant question in the slightest."

Alfred laughed. What was so damn funny? Arthur growled threateningly. Yet again, Alfred just laughed. He laughed that deep, joyous laugh that made the world seem lighter. "Just answer the question. See? I'll go first, dude. I like green, how about you?"

"Hm..." Arthur looked up through Alfred's glasses and nodded to himself. "Blue. I definitely like the color blue."

"Cool!" The American chirped about, "Now you can ask a question!"

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Whot's the purpose of these silly questions?"

"To get to know each other. I like knowing stuff about my friends, ya know."

"Ah, yes."

"So, you got any questions?"

Arthur scrunched up his nose. "Do you have a favorite author?" At the blank look on Alfred's face, he sighed. "You don't read at all, do you? I like Shakespeare."

"Is he the dude that wrote Romeo and July?"

An irate glare was shot his way, and Arthur didn't hesitate to point out that it wasn't 'Romeo and July', but 'Romeo and _Juliet'. _"You Americans," he said. "All of you are so uncultured when it comes to fine literature." He grinned, "I take that back, you Americans are uncultured in _everything_."

"Hey!" Alfred piped, "Not _all _Americans are as stupid as me!"

"So you admit you're stupid?"

"Wait-no-I mean, gah!"

Arthur smiled, and Alfred jumped excitedly, not minding the pain stinging through his foot _or _the earlier insult. "Ha! I finally got you to smile!" At that, his smile was promptly was replaced with a frown and Arthur stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"Whot are you talking about? God, git, and I thought you couldn't get any worse." He shook his head.

He bumped into the American as he came to a sudden halt. "Keep moving Alfred!"

"Artie, we're already here."

Finally, the cheer and laughter of the amusement park stopped seeming like they were worlds away. They closed in on Arthur, the lights almost blinding and the screams almost defining. It was a bemusing and obscure world, just a few feet away from him. It brought him to his childhood. The years he spent happy, or as close to happy as he'd ever been.

"O-oh." Arthur blushed in embarrassment. He'd been so caught up in their conversation that he'd let down his guard, not even noticing they had arrived. He pushed past Alfred and almost stormed past the ticket man.

"Hold up!" Alfred jogged up behind him, pulling out money from his pocket. The man nodded, leafed through the stack, and handed them wristbands.

"Enjoy your night," the man said in a gravely voice. Alfred nodded and Arthur mumbled a soft 'thank you' before he was ushered inside the twin gates at the front. Multicolored lights burned at his eyes, but a soft lull floating over the rides made it almost tolerable. He was dragged past children who should've been in bed, college students, and older people alike. Everyone was having fun. Everyone was laughing. The world was bright. The world was happy.

"Stop pulling me, Alfred!"

The man, who was dragging him by the wrist, turned sharply and almost sent Arthur into the pavement. "Bloody hell!" As he was yanked further and further into the crowd, his obscenities grew louder and earned them a few words from watching parents who had to cover their children's ears. "Fuck! Wanker, tosser, blooming American twat! Let me go before I kick you hard enough to get you sent to the hospital!"

Alfred giggled a bit, but all Arthur could think of was how impossible it was for a man this lanky and thin to be this strong. He was tugged into a line for god-knows-what and pushed ahead of the American. As the chaos around him began to settle, he paled instantly. "No. No fucking way."

"Aw, but it'll be fun~!"

"Nothing, and I repeat _nothing _is fun about getting stupid shapes _painted _on your bloody face!"

Now, Arthur had always liked childish things. He loved unicorns and fairies and other _gay _and _boisterous _things. But he had some sort of limit somewhere within him... Somewhere.

"They aren't shapes, Artie. Duh, everyone knows they're cute little flags. Don't worry, I'll make sure you get an awesome American once so you can look just as patriotic as I am-"

"No. If I'm going to be forced to have a tacky flag painted on my cheek it's going to be one of my own." They stepped up to the man at the end of the line, a kind looking soul with a wrinkled face and an old paintbrush for face-paint.

"What can I get yer?"

Alfred pushed Arthur into the seat with that idiotic grin of his and said to the painter; "Get him an American flag. He'd _love _one."

"You're doing this just to piss me off, aren't you!? Bugger off! If I'm getting a stupid flag on my cheek it'll be a fucking British one!"

The man looked between the two and gave a wry grin to the both of them. "A British one it'll be then."

Arthur smirked victoriously while Alfred settled for a pout. "Fine."

**X Most people would rather be certain they're miserable, than risk being happy. -****Robert Anthony X**

Now, with a stupid flag painted under his left eye - Arthur didn't even know why it was a_ flag_ of all things - Alfred had started dragging around him again. "What is _with _you and your obsession with tugging people around?"

"Oh come on Artie-" Alfred dissolved into a fit of sneezes that made Arthur retract away. After a few sniffs, he smiled again, though it looked a little strained.

"You... alright there?" Arthur blinked owlishly, vexation dripping off every word. Alfred stopped sniffing and nodded, though he sneezed once again before coughing. Arthur wasn't sure if he was alright at all, but he pushed that strange sense of worry away with an indignant sniff. "Okay then."

Once Alfred was done coughing, he looked into his palm and sighed in relief. This time, there was no red staining his skin. There was no coppery smell, and there was no burning in the back of his throat. For tonight, he seemed like he was in the clear. "Sorry 'bout that." He rolled his neck. "Allergies are horrible."

Arthur agreed with a small hum. The voice in his head had increased in volume. It was shouting, shouting, shouting. People seemed to get closer and closer and _closer_ until he couldn't stand it. Arthur mumbled and rambled on to himself. _Why him? Why him, why him-_

"Artie, you okay, dude?"

"Yeah." Arthur's nose scrunched up again for the second time that night and Alfred knew that he wasn't, but he let it slide. He was that awesome of a friend. after all. The American settled for resting his hand on the Brit's shoulder.

"Hey, I'll get us some food, okay? Just stay out here for a sec, I gotta run!"

"But-"

"Wait." Alfred took a cellphone from his pocket and flipped it open. It was one of those old ones that no one had anymore, and Arthur's lips turned up at the sight of the modern-looking man with such old technology. "I'll put my number in your phone. If anything happens, you can give me a holler."

Arthur weighed his options. What if someone tried to hurt him? What if Francis was here, by some strange twist of fate? What about Gilbert? Or Antonio? He found himself nodding far sooner than he had planned to. He wouldn't risk it, he decided. He wouldn't risk it. Arthur dug through his pockets until his warm fingers came into contact with the chilled material that made up his phone. A shiver rolled down his spine and e brought it out, handing it to Alfred almost instantaneously.

"Wow, it's so cool looking!" Alfred looked at the contraption for a second before turning it on. His tongue stuck out in concentration and his fingers _tip-tapped _against the keys until he finished. His tongue returned, and a bright smile took its place as he lifted the phone and took a quick picture of himself. Then, he handed the phone back to Arthur. "There we go. I added myself as a contact."

"Alright. Now get on with it, yeah? It's cold and I want food."

Alfred nodded, "Of course Iggy. Be back soon~!"

He zoomed off into the night, disappearing into one of the far-off shops past one of the roller-coasters. Arthur sighed and looked at his phone, debating with himself before turning it on. He pressed the 'contacts' icon and scrolled through his limited numbers before he came across '**The Hero**' He shook his head and pressed 'edit' before changing it to '**Alfred**'

Sometimes the bloke really confused him.

After all, what was he doing calling himself a hero? He surely didn't act like one. He seemed more like a... comic-book enthusiast. Or maybe an action figure collector. He didn't seem like the type of person to actually want to help others. Only when you got to know him did you realize how sweet, though utterly annoying, he could be. There were a few scars on his face proving he had had acne at some point, and though his glasses fogged up when he got too excited, his eyes were always the first thing you saw when he came running. They were like the sky; leading off into a nothingness that compelled you to stare further. Arthur laughed for a second about the implying joke he's cracked about Alfred's intelligence and looked around almost anxiously.

_"Hm..." Arthur looked up through Alfred's glasses and nodded to himself. "Blue. I definitely like the color blue." _What was with his answer, though? Was he too obvious? Arthur shook his head. The American was just one of the many obstacles in his life. That's all he ever would be.

What was taking him so long, anyway?

It was cold outside. Arthur rubbed his hands along with arms to warm them up, and he deeply regretted forgetting his gloves. The crowd around him began to diminish and the people walked by less often. Though the park wouldn't be closing for a few more hours, it seemed like most of their guests had wandered off and left because of the cold. With a quick glance at his phone, Arthur concluded that is was indeed getting late; nearly nine, in fact. They'd left at seven or so.

His foot began to tap impatiently. _Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap._

Where was Alfred?

His finger ghosted over the 'call' button for a moment, but the gleam of blue stopped him.

Then, he noticed Alfred _wasn't _walking towards him, but talking to a group of stragglers who all happened to be girls. Pretty girls. Pretty girls with _gigantic_breasts. Pretty girls with gigantic breasts who just _happened _to be about Alfred's age.

When Arthur's face flushed, he convinced himself that he wasn't jealous. He wasn't. People like him didn't _get _jealous after all.

He was just angry.

After five minutes of watching the bastard _flirt_ with the girls, he still hadn't moved. Arthur hated his illness, he hated it to the depths of his soul. He couldn't face people without panicking, and he'd just started warming up to Alfred. _You silly, silly lad. Can't you just recognize he doesn't need you as a friend? You're such a horrible person. You were the one that hurt his foot, after all. Who knows? Maybe you'll push him off a bridge next time. Accidentally stab him through he chest. Strangle him during one of your anxiety attacks. Or maybe you'll smash **his** hand through some glass too. You know, like you did? Like you've done so many times before? _Arthur's hand touched the healing cuts littering his knuckles.

"Shut up... J-just belt up you stupid, stupid-"

_But who'll warn you if I'm not here? Who'll protect you from yourself?_

"Get out of my head!" Arthur whispered harshly, tugging his knees to his chest and digging his nails into his scalp. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to ignore it. He tried so very hard, but _the voice. _It was the cat. He was the vole. The mouse. He didn't stand a chance.

_Oh I can't do that, dear **Iggy**._

"Don't call me that!"

_I'll always watch out for you. Mothers know best, son of mine. I love you because no one else ever will-_

"Hey Artie, what's wrong?"

Alfred came barreling towards; almost worriedly. Something seemed wrong with his friend, and if his friend was sad, then it was his business too.

Arthur shook his head adamantly. "N-nothing at all."

"You sure dude?"

"Positive." His eyebrows furrowed when realization dawned upon him. "Why aren't you with those... pretty girls over there?" Arthur motioned over to the young women with a nod of his head, and Alfred chuckled.

"Them? They aren't my type; a bit too boring for me, man! Seriously, like for reals! And why would I wanna hang out with them when I've got my pal Artie with me?" He scratched the back of his neck. "I even gave them a fake number. One of them really scared me."

"Ooh, I didn't know you could be so cruel." Arthur drawled, rolling his eyes. "A flirt and a heart-breaker. How tragic."

Alfred smirked. "Who said I was _fl__irting _with them?"

Arthur bristled. "You're impossible."

The other man shrugged and slung his arm around Arthur's shoulders. "Maybe." His eyes skimmed over the rides and stopped suddenly, shining. He jumped up and down excitedly, exclaiming: "I want to go on the Ferris Wheel!"

"Whot? What's so great about a fucking Ferris Wheel?"

"You cuss a lot, dude. Chill out~! And Ferris Wheels are freaking great! Haven't you ever been on one?"

"Of course I have, sheesh. But that was years ago, and I'm not really in the mood. Look, it's getting late now. Can we just head back home?"

Alfred gave him a pleading look. In a few moments, Arthur relented.

He was dragged the rest of the way to the Ferris Wheel when a voice sounded behind them. "Al! What are you doing outside?" Alfred's back stiffened and he laughed nervously. Arthur looked at the owner of the voice- a man who seemed a lot like the American but had a softer voice- and raised an eyebrow.

"Aha... Funny sorry, actually. Look Mattie, I can explain-"

Then, Arthur's whole world collapsed around him when he saw the German devil standing by this 'Mattie' person. "Gilbert..." He breathed, not knowing what to do with himself. His knees wobbled and his mind raced.

"Oh, hey zere little fag. How's it going? Hanging with Birdie's Bruder, eh?" Gilbert's grin was twisted and evil; it sent chills down Arthur's spine.

"_GIL!" _'Mattie' tugged at Gilbert's elbow and glared harshly at him. The albino tried to peck the man on the lips, but the blond leaned back defiantly. It seemed what he lacked in assertiveness he made up in attitude. "I'm going to talk to you later, Gil."

"What, no sex?"

'Mattie' blushed, but his glare stayed strong. He glanced back at Arthur and said, "I'm sorry-"

"Arthur."

"-Arthur. I'll be dragging Gil _and_ Alfred home now. Have a good night, eh? I'm sorry for all of the trouble Alfie might have caused you."

Arthur nodded curtly, feeling anger bubble within him. He turned on his heels and stalked into the crowd, a resounding 'Kesesese' following behind him. He didn't want to look back, because he could never face this 'Mattie' person. Surely, he'd make enemies with him too. They were brothers, after all. Family came first. If 'Mattie' came to hate him, Alfred probably would too.

Arthur would have never be able to deal with that.

So he ran, pretending not to hear the footsteps and calls pursuing after him.

Surely, it was better this way.

The Brit ignored the anger forming in his body and kept running. He turned a sharp corner and slid down the side of the wall. Yes, surely it was better this way. He didn't know how to react when people confronted him. He just wanted to shout, and scream, and _kick _until no one would be able to look him in the eye again. He wanted to be feared because he didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to be overcome with hard, cold facts. He just wanted bliss and sleep and _solitude._ Alfred could never give him these things, even if he ever _did_ become the hero he claimed to be.

He wanted to be feared because he'd never be loved.

Need tightened his gut, and before Arthur knew what was happening, he was convulsing over the pavement. Heaving. Retching. Everything - or everything he _hadn't - _eaten that day was coming back up again. Revulsion squirmed through his chest and made it ache. His heart tugged and his stomach sunk as he puked everything up again. This feeling was familiar to him. It was always present. But never before had he felt it so strongly.

Arthur knocked his head against the ground. It was slick with sweat and bile but he didn't mind the gross feeling, or the wet smack it created. All he could hear was the droning in his head. That sick, twisted taunting only his mother could voice. He tried hitting, smacking, and knocking it out; but the voice wouldn't leave and it wouldn't fade. It was always there.

It was always banging at his consciousness and turning his brain to mush.

Always.

Arthur stopped hitting his head only because a nasty bruise was forming. He lay, disorientated and dizzy, on the sidewalk for several minutes before pushing himself back to the wall and wiping the vomit from his face with his shirt sleeve.

Would it always be this way?

Yeah, it did seem like it.

The British flag had smudged off his cheek as soon as the tears started to fall.

Soft happy music played right around the corner.

**X We always thought we'd look back on our tears and laugh, but we never thought we'd look back on our laughter and cry X**

Alfred felt completely helpless as Arthur ran off. His mind raced and his head thudded in sync with his heart. He glanced at Mattie, who was still angry past all measure, and then back to where Arthur had been standing just moments before. Gilbert had shit-eating grin number six on his face, and though Alfred thought of him as a friend, what he'd said had obviously hurt Arthur. Maybe he was missing something, Alfred thought dully. He was confused. Gilbert knew Arthur? And Arthur was... a... faggot? He was straight. Had he missed something? Had he been oblivious yet again?

Matthew started dragging him away.

Maybe something was happening to Arthur, his mind screamed. He always looked so lost and broken and _tired_. But Alfred didn't know whether he actually wanted to be the Brit's friend for his personality, or for his problems. Did he just want to save him? Was his forsaken complex making things hell for him again? Was that it? Did he really not care about Arthur in the first place...?

No.

Of course he cared. How _couldn't_ he care? He did care, right? Was he just trying to be the hero?

As Matthew tugged him harder, he decided he'd just have to confront his friend - the word stung because he didn't know it it was valid anymore - some other time.

* * *

England may seem like a wimp, okay. But think about it from his point of view, yeahhh? He has weaknesses, and his main one lies with people leaving him.

Review answer-thing-section~

ZestyPeriwinkle- Oh I love Mattie so much _ And wonderful hetalia thoughts make everyone (or should make everyone) feel fuzzy inside ^^ Glad you like it so far. I have plans for this story, indeed. Mwahaha. I feel like an evil author-lady.

Mandaar- Oh thank you! I want to be a writer one day. So, as they say, it's never too early to start improving. (Or do they say that? No? Oh well, I do.)

Guest number uno- Yessss Alfred's vocabulary is atrocious!

Guest number dos- Mental illnesses can be very interesting to learn about, indeeeeed.

Adios, mi amigos. Egh, I don't speak Spanish, nor do I type it. Don't judge me /.\

And I'd like to know whether you'd like long chapters or short chapters. Tell me? Short and quick, or long as updated a bit less?

OH AND HAPPY HALLLLOOOOWWEEEEENNN

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

Short chapter for you all! Don't own Hetalia, yadda yadda.

No research ^^.

Yeah, unbeta'd again

Now you people get to read about how Mattie and Gilbert really view the other two.. Ye. Sorry it's short... .-. I just wanted to get another out there. Oh, and I need opinions! Tell me whether or not my summary is gripping enough, please? I'm not good at them 3:

And I think the point of this story is to show that even though life is plagued with problems, you can always overcome them and see life positively. Also, that mental illnesses are nothing to joke with and should be taken seriously. They are a problem, and in this, yaoi is basically the medication for such~ (also that recovery doesn't happen all at once. After all, Rome wasn't built in a day)

**Side Effects and Sickness**

_Never explain―your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe you anyway.  
― Elbert Hubbard_

Alfred really _did_ think something was horribly, unmistakably wrong. Matthew had dragged him back with a laughing Gilbert at his side, a firm scowl on his usually passive face. He almost cowered when Mattie gave him a particularly rigid glance.

He let himself be dragged into Gil's car, a black Mustang, nearly right away.

Mattie was_ mad._

Now, Alfred had seen his slightly older brother mad before. The day he'd broken his toy bear, for instance. Mattie was mad then, and he was mad now. Gilbert chattered away like he hadn't said anything wrong, and Matthew's face grew darker and darker until he snapped as far as a quiet person like him _could_.

"You know what?" He turned to his boyfriend and glared harshly. His voice was low and dangerous. "That wasn't cool, Gil. Not. At. All."

Gilbert was broken from his stupor. "What did I do?"

"'What did I do?'" Matthew mocked. "You... You just went and-" he stopped talking and growled irritably. "Gil I can't deal with you right now."

Gilbert turned and looked to the passenger's seat. "So this is my fault?"

"I never said it was-" Mattie's eyes flickered to Alfred, like he'd just been reminded of his presence. "We'll talk about this later Gil."

The man nodded and looked back to the road. A stiff silence enveloped the space inside the car, and Alfred felt his nervousness grow. He tried to reason with it as he pulled his bomber jacket tighter around his shoulders. There was no reason to be nervous! He was the hero, and he could deal with his brother, even if he was angry.  
But Mattie never got angry unless the issue at hand was serious. Was this a serious matter? He couldn't tell; all he had done was-

Alfred jolted. How the hell had he forgotten? Other than being caught outside, he'd also been caught with /Arthur. In his thoughts, he couldn't piece together an explanation for why Arthur could have been significant in Matthew's anger, but he couldn't think of any other reason as to _why. Why, why, why_?

Worry pushed back into his thoughts once again. What if Arthur never even got home? What if he was killed, or kidnapped, or _gone_ by the time Alfred even knew it? Did he even have a _ride_?

When they pulled up in front of their apartment, Gilbert let them get out before driving off, well over the speed limit. Alfred didn't resist as Mattie pulled him inside and up to their room. The whole way, he could _feel _the anger emanating from his brother, and frankly, it scared him. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Alfred knew he was frightened by the rare show of anger.

He knew he'd been out without permission, but was it really this big of a deal?

Before he got the chance to process his thoughts further, Mattie pushed him on to the couch and stomped to the kitchen. "Oh Alfred I can't _believe _you!" Alfred could hear him rummaging in the cabinets for something - most likely his medication - while he sat, dazed. Now that the cold wasn't brushing against his cheeks he realized he felt a little hot.

"First, you go out without me knowing, when I told you _not to_, and then you go and get sick! You just got over this fever, Al!"

Yeah, that was it. Alfred felt his eyes flutter closed for an elongated blink before they slowly inched open again. He was sick, wasn't he?

He heard shuffling beside him and noted that Mattie had returned to his side. Pills were popped into his mouth and water followed right after. He was used to this. Matthew muttered something along the lines of, 'I can never leave you alone, can I?' before coaxing Alfred into a lying position. "Maybe I should just dump Gil," he said to himself. It didn't even sound like he had meant for Alfred to hear, but he had. The American jolted up nearly right after, only to be shoved down again.

"Why?" He demanded, his voice already intoxicated and sleepy. He hated pills. He _hated _them. They made everything slow down and stop.

Mattie sighed and sat beside him. "When I go out with Gil, I leave you alone. I don't want _that_ to happen to you again, you know?" He carded his fingers through his overgrown hair and sighed. The facts that were right in front of him hit Alfred hard.

"So... it's all my fault?" Alfred felt tears burn at his half-lidded eyes as he moaned in extreme pain, though the pills numbed most of his body he could still feel pangs of it jolt through his body. "It's all my fault you can't be happy?"

Mattie looked pained, too. He squeezed his eyes shut. "No, no it's not like that at all-"

"I'm sorry, Ma-Mattie-" Alfred gripped his brothers wrist as he drifted into induced slumber. He grabbed it hurriedly and desperately, like he was afraid his brother would leave him. "I hope I die soon so I can stop inconveniencing you."

His brother was shaking. Matthew leaned close to Alfred and whispered brokenly into his ear, anger dissipating into worry almost instantly: "Don't think that, Al. You'd never inconvenience me. Not now, not ever. And you'll be fine, just you wait and see."

**X"A man with no enemies is a man with no character."  
― Paul NewmanX**

Gilbert sighed. He was torn and confused, at wits end with himself and regretting more than he cared to regret. The albino chuckled as he pulled up to the amusement park again, his red eyes saddened. "The awesome me has a lot to make up for, huh?" He walked up to the gates and sighed as he stepped back through them.

Where had the little brat run off to?

He wandered towards where the Brit had disappeared earlier and let his shoulders slouch. "'uch a mess," He mumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. The place was nearly deserted, for Pete's sake! Why couldn't he find the guy?

_Maybe if you stopped being such a dick-_

Gilbert ignored his own voice within him and sighed. He might as well start looking harder.

It took nearly half an hour for him to find his 'enemy' (though secretly Gilbert _did _sort of... _sort of_ admire him) asleep in a puddle of his own vomit. He cringed at the sight and sighed... _again_. "Come on," he grumbled. "I have to play nurse now, too?"

_Well it _is_ your fault he's out here in the first place. _

Gilbert shuffled over to Arthur and picked him up. He groaned as he felt the dead weight and chose to ignore it as much as possible as he traveled back to his car. "You cause so much trouble." He said to Arthur (even though he knew he couldn't hear him) as he rubbed the vomit from Arthur's face with his shirt sleeve. He was choosing to be nice _strictly _because he'd done so much to poor Arthur in his past. They all had. Antonio - well, him not so much - Francis, Ivan, Gilbert himself, and at one point even teachers hated him. And for what reason? Gilbert didn't even know why anymore. They're just been young and stupid. They held so many pointless grudges. For what reason? Because the guy was gay? Most of them were anyway! Resentment still burned in his gut though. Gilbert would never like Arthur. It was as simple as that.

He brought the man back to his car, laid him down in the back seat, and drove back to the apartment complex in uncomfortable silence. Part of him was freaked out and worried that Arthur would wake up and flip out because he was in Gil's car, but another part of him wanted to tell everyone how _awesome _and _selfless _he was being; even though he knew that to be false. He was _not _being awesome. Nor was he being selfless.

He owed Arthur for all he'd done, after all.

Part of him felt guilty, but the feeling was short lived. He drove it out of his mind when they pulled up outside the apartment complex once again. Momentarily concerned for Arthur's health, he checked for a pulse, nodded to himself, and patted him down for his keys.

He found them in his pants pocket and dragged them out slowly, careful not to wake the sleeping man. As soon as they were out, he was picking Arthur up and dragging him inside.

**X"Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call a man cold when he is only sad."  
― Henry Wadsworth LongfellowX**

Matthew found that this had started becoming a regular thing. Crying alone in his room at night. Sobbing at the real nightmare that _was _his life.

The Canadian was a pretty optimistic man, but even he couldn't drive away the sadness that clawed at him nearly every night. He was always strong for Alfred. Alfred, poor Alfred. The young man that was frail. That was sick. That was dying.

They both knew it, too.

That made Matthew even sadder.

The fact that a man so devoted to trying to help others couldn't even help himself. It was almost poetic, really, but it hurt him inside because this was his brother. The boy that had built sand castles with him at the beach when they were little, the boy who had consoled him throughout the thick and the thin, the very same boy who used to hide with him at night under blankets to chat the night away. Talking about nothing and everything. Kids, teenagers, adults.

From week to week, day to day. They'd laugh their life away. They always thought that would be their future. Best friends, forever. Siblings, family, a bond that couldn't be undone. The more Matthew wished for it to be true, the farther the dream moved away from him. Life happened, and it split them apart. He felt indentured to Alfred. He felt like _he _should be sick and not his popular, _loved _brother.

He thought about his parents. Al's parents. Them dying. The funeral. The sickness. The _indecent. _The hospital.

He couldn't control his thoughts. Matthew loved control. He relished in it.

Control never felt so far away.

He knew one day Alfred would get really sick, and his life would wither away like some sort of insignificant flower's. He _hated_ this. With Alfred knocked out on pain medication, he could sob to his heart's content.

Since Alfred wouldn't cry for himself, Matthew would cry for the both of them.

_"It's all my fault you can't be happy?"_

_ "I hope I die soon so I can stop inconveniencing you."_

Of _course_ only Al would think he was inconveniencing people by living, but this sent a pang through his chest. If only he was stronger. If only he could tell Alfred he was _wrong_.

He would love his brother until the very end.

And that was that.  
He just hoped the _end_ wouldn't be for a while, at least.

**X"That's the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it's impossible to ever see the end."  
― Elizabeth Wurtzel, _Prozac Nation_X**

_Arthur looked up at his mother and blinked owlishly. "Mummy, what's wrong?"_

_The nice, young woman wiped the tears from her eyes and leaned down to pat his head affectionately. "Nothing's wrong, darling. Go back to bed."_

_He sighed and leaned into the touch. "Okay mum. I love you."  
_

_His mom choked back a sob with the back of her hand and nodded. "I love you too, baby. Have a good night's sleep."_

* * *

Review answers!

Shikuzumika - thanks. Please tell me if anything is incorrect. I do _try _to make it as realistic and accurate as possible, but I _am _thirteen. I try ^^. Thanks for the suggestion, too. I'll definitely be using i. I had never thought of that before. heh...heh.

Penguindrum- thanks for reading~! I'll tr to post as quickly as I can, but life _does _get in the way sometimes. I know, I'm surprised I even _have _one.

Heather- blehhhhh Beta-ing is soooo much workkkk eugh

CherryBlossomKisses- Don't worry, I'll ruin your impression of me soon enough. Mwahaha. I'll try not to give too many cliffhangers in the future. Maybe *looks away*

Guest- I hope you like it and continue to~

Thanks for reading

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Heyo friends! It's Me again. Thank you for the reviews *ducks head* they make me happy. AND they inspire me to work harder to update! Yeah, that's got to count for something

And here is just a bit about schizophrenia and how it affects relationships. Keep this stuff in mind for later in the story.

The ill partner must accept treatment. Untreated schizophrenia can make people behave erratically. The other partner can find herself subject to verbal abuse, emotional neglect, and delusional accusations. No healthy relationship can sustain this.

The well partner must create a support system. Schizophrenia affects your partner's ability to meet your emotional needs, so you will need your own support system outside the relationship. Caregivers tend to suffer from depression, so it's important to have access to mental health support, like a counselor or therapist. Friends and family can provide a listening ear, a much-needed distraction, and a sense of normalcy.

Schizophrenia and Relationships: Challenges and Solutions

Every couple deals with finances, division of household duties, and intimacy. Schizophrenia affects these universal issues, but you can deal with them:

Household duties. Dr. Ongur explains that schizophrenia impacts the way that people read social cues. Don't expect your partner with schizophrenia to figure out what he or she needs to do around the house. Counseling can help partners learn how to make expectations clear in a supportive and positive way.

Finances. People with schizophrenia are not always able to return to work, even after their symptoms are stabilized. If this is the case, applying for disability benefits from Social Security can help. Medications for schizophrenia are expensive, and frequent co-pays add up. Let your doctors know about your financial situation as well; some clinics charge on a sliding scale.

Intimacy. Schizophrenia may directly decrease interest in sex, and some antipsychotic medications impact libido. A couple's counselor can help couples express their needs and wants. If necessary, talk with the patient's doctor about switching medications, or adding drugs that address erectile dysfunction and sexual response.

...

Yeah that's in. Onward, to the chapter! I'M SORRY IT'S KIND OF SHORT D; (I listened to Human by the Killers on repeat to write this)

**A Broken Family**

_...Families are Forever, and he wondered if the slogan was meant as a promise or a threat._

_Brady Udall_

Arthur woke up to the usual shrill screeching that resided within his skull, like he always did. It usually seemed to permeate his dreams and reach him in the dead of night, and it would rock his consciousness to and fro, and sometimes he wouldn't be able to tell if he was still dreaming as night ebbed to morning. It was an ugly feeling but it still stuck, and it always would. _Get up, get up, get up, get up you worthless little sonofabitch. _Darkness blending into everlasting confusion.

He took a few moments to oblige, and he cracked open his eyes with a tired groan. What time is it? Arthur rolled over in bed and scratched at the nape of his neck before groaning once more as he checked the clock beside him. Noon. Ah, so that's why he felt the warm sun on his face.

He jolted up and looked down. Blankets were wrapped around him and his clothes from the previous night were still on him. The previous night! The previous night!

How had he gotten home? Why was he wrapped up so warmly? How? Why? Trepidation sunk in his stomach as he scrambled out of bed, making a beeline for the restroom.

Arthur was nearly positive the last night had not been a dream. How could it have been? He couldn't have dreamt up that heaven. His heaven with sky-blue eyes and fogged glasses suited him very well, Arthur thought. But that nasty trepidation still clogged his happy thoughts and drove them out. Like storm clouds settling over a sunny day.

He glanced outside and chuckled breathlessly. It seemed like it was getting a bit cloudy. Maybe it was time to do some cleaning to keep his mind off unpleasant thoughts.

Pushing out the innocuous fact that he'd gotten home somehow the night before, he checked the clock again and blanched inwardly. It was almost one. Had he been unresponsive that long? Arthur shook his head and sighed.

Cleaning was a daunting task on its own, but anything was better than lingering too closely to his desolate thoughts.

So after checking the house for any... _suspicious_ proof to indicate who had taken him home the night before, he got to work.

After all, Peter would be over the next day. One day to clean, buy food, and plan. The more he thought about how much he really had to do, the more he just wanted to crawl into bed and stop existing. "Ugh. So much work, not enough time. I'm getting too old for all this manual labor." He picked up a random box from the floor and shoved it into his closet before moving to the next. After all, out of sight, out of mind. Once the blasted shit littering his apartment was all gone, he wouldn't have to think about it much more (until he actually needed something from his closet, that was).

_You could just give up, if you know what I mean._

Arthur's eyes flickered over to his array of random knives for the second time that week. He sighed and raked his fingers through his forever messy hair. "Not this again..." Blocking the voice out with random static type noises, he got to work once more. He had to concentrate almost _completely_ on blocking out the voice, so his work was immensely affected. "Blast. I'm not getting anything done."

Part of him wanted to see Alfred, but another part of him was terribly afraid the the young American hated him now. He couldn't think of why Alfred could ever hate him, but he thought that maybe he'd done something wrong. He always did manage to screw things up for everyone. This was no different.

It would never be different.

Arthur hissed and retracted his hand away from the box stash. Somehow he'd managed to run his thumb into a shard of broken glass. Now, the skin was split and he was bleeding profusely. "Damn it all," he muttered sourly, twisting it into his shirt to wipe away the blood.

Just as he finished stacking the box away, a bit haphazardly at that, he shuffled over to the bathroom with his thumb in his mouth. "Damn. It. All."

Luck just wasn't in his favor.

Arthur sighed and dug out a bandage from a low cabinet. Deciding he'd rather procrastinate with his cleaning, he gave his house another once-over for any clues of who'd dropped him off and grabbed his keys. Shopping would do a better job of keeping his mind clear than cleaning would.

He nodded to himself.

"Time to get this over with."

**XYou learned to run from what you feel, and that's why you have nightmares. To deny is to invite madness. To accept is to control.**

**-Megan ChanceX**

Gilbert sighed and snapped his phone shut. He'd called Matthew nearly ten times in the last hour, and his boyfriend still had not answered. He couldn't even understand why he was mad at him. Sure, he'd said some things to Arthur and _maybe-possibly-kinda_ distracted Matthew from taking care of Alfred, but was that _really_ a reason to ignore someone for a whole day?

"I even made up for vat I did to Arthur. Verdammt!"

He tried dialing Matthew again. One beep. Two. Three._ BEEEEEEP. Sorry, but the person who you're trying to reach is not available right now. Please leave a message after the-_

With one fluid motion, Gilbert threw his phone against the wall and it fell to the carpet with a thud. He looked around his apartment and sighed. He had to go shopping again. Great. For the past few days, he'd been focusing on Matthew and his anniversary that was coming up. Seeing the present situation, he wasn't too sure if that anniversary was still going to stand.

This upset him. A whole year. A_ year_. Gilbert was never this committed to anything_ or_ anyone. That had to count for something. Anything. And he had planned something sweet. And awesome. And cool. Truly, he hoped his Birdie would come around sooner or later. Dare he say his boyfriend was a lot more special than he made him to be.

Matthew was interesting, cute, strong, and-

"Verdammt!" He said again, grabbing his keys and rushing to his car. He would just do his shopping now. After, he'd drop by his Birdie's house to check up on him._ I hope he's alright._ He reminded himself that the kid probably _was_ as he scooted into his car. His red eyes only half-focused, he drove the few blocks to the market.

Well he might as well get his shopping done while Antonio and Francis were still at work.

**X"Knowing that you're crazy doesn't make the crazy things stop happening." ~ Mark VonnegutX**

Arthur paced back and forth past the aisles. With a shopping list in hand, he skimmed his eyes up and down it with a firm frown plastered on his face. Taking a pen out of his pocket, he checked off a few items before turning his cart to the side. Milk, check. Flower, check. Baking powder, check. He grinned a bit and tucked it back into his pocket. He almost had everything. Now all he had to get was-

Arthur bumped into someone and went to apologize, but the other person beat him to it. "Sorry."

A German accent.

German.

_German._

Arthur reeled backwards and found himself staring into Gilbert's eyes. They we're haughty and defiant just like his were, but they held a certain sort of evil to them that Arthur could not replicate.

"What are you doing here, you over-sized rodent?" He fixed his glare on to him as he stood to full height and tried straighten his clothes. Trying his best to look intimidating, Arthur puffed out his chest slightly. _Please don't hit me please don't hit me._

Arthur shook his head and glared harder. Gilbert on the other hand, sighed and pulled his striped shirt closer to his body. Was that regret Arthur sensed? Who the hell did Gilbert think he was?

Instead of attacking him, the man sighed heavily and walked past him. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood, Kirkland."

It was funny. He didn't look like he was in a good mood at all. Not even in the slightest. In fact, he looked pretty upset. Arthur's brow wrinkled in confusion and he squinted his eyes suspiciously.

Deciding to drop whatever he'd just witnessed from the 'Prussian' (Arthur thought that was ridiculous because German and Prussian were basically the same thing) he pushed his already heavy cart to the check-out aisle after grabbing the eggs he needed.

And after that, he found himself standing in the parking lot with his hands completely full. How was he going to walk home when he could barely see the ground beneath him? Cursing, Arthur dropped the bags and stomped childishly. "Screw you, too! _Goddamn I hate everything_!"

"Kesesese. You're so childish, _Artie._"

Arthur spun on his heels and continued to stomp, kick out at the Prussian, and claw at him when he could. "Get away from me you bloody tosser! If you want to hit me or something, go ahead! _But know I'll fight tooth and nail, you arse_!"

Gilbert's eyes shone with pity and resentment. And Arthur _hated _it. But the man raised his hands in surrender anyhow. "Look, you seem like you could use a little help from ze awesome me. How about it, Kirky?"

Arthur panted and looked at the ground around him. His bags were tangled in a disarray beneath his feet, and he could see a few of his eggs had smashed. _Don't trust him don't trust him don't trust him don't trust him. _Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and dug his nails into his scalp. "I'm not some charity case. Just let me be." Arthur looked up through his messy fringe. "Haven't you done enough?"

Gilbert looked somewhat surprised, but Arthur didn't get a good look at his expression for he was already pushing past him, groceries be damned. He'd... he'd... He didn't know know what he'd do. But... he didn't need his groceries, dammit. Gilbert didn't make an attempt to stop him, so he continued to power walk back to the apartment. Eyes brimming with frustrated tears, he lost track of time.  
The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of his room.

Where his bags were waiting.

Arthur blinked, utterly transfixed at the scene before him. His groceries sat in front of his room door, a small note folded on top of a plastic bag before him. It read - _sorry _- in messy writing.

"Who is that twat trying to fool?"

He crumbled up Gilbert's note and tossed it over his shoulder.

As if he'd ever be sorry.

**X"One thing you can't hide - is when you're crippled inside."  
― John LennonX**

Matthew sighed and set down the bottle of medication. With Alfred now sound asleep, he had some more time to think to himself. His brother was feeling a lot better, and he'd probably be fine by Saturday, but his erratic health had started to really worry him. Who was to say he wouldn't just die one day all alone? What if Mattie couldn't help him? What if the doctors had no cure for this illness?  
He already knew the answer to that.

They didn't.

He put his head into his hands and breathed deep shuttering breaths. Maybe if he screwed his eyes tightly enough, the world would fade and he wouldn't have to face Alfred's hopeful eyes anymore. Those skies of blue had dimmed over the years, and Mattie could remember when they shone far brighter than any star. Now, they stared at him so _expectantly _that it was hard for him to even make eye contact.

Where had those happy days gone?  
Oh, they had been flushed down the metaphorical toilet _years _ago. That _also _upset him, but he couldn't change the past.

He chuckled breathlessly to himself and shut away the pills in the cabinet. Just then, there was a persistent knocking that broke him out of his musings. He shuffled half-heartily over to the door and unlocked the deadbolt before cracking it open.

Gilbert.

He slammed the door in the albino's face before he could fit a word into the space between them. Matthew's heart clenched horribly, but he ignored the burning sensation in his eyes as best as he could.

_KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK._

Matthew sniffed and shouted softly as to not wake Alfred up. "Go away, Gil!"

There was a pause in the constant knocking and he heard something, or in this case, _someone_, slump against the door. Curious, Mattie walked closer and heard Gil say: "I'm not leaving zis hallway until you hear me out, Birdie!"

"Then I guess you're going to be out there for a while," he huffed, returning to the door to check the lock. He heard Gil humming through the door and shook his head. Even if breaking up with his terribly loud boyfriend hurt him, he could do it. If it meant helping Alfred, he would do _anything._

He would even give up his happiness for him. After all, they were family.  
That meant their bond was _everything. _And staying a family was one of the only things Matthew thought was important anymore. Not even college _or _work was important as Alfred was. He knew it would only go downhill from here.

**X"When you've suffered a great deal in life, each additional pain is both unbearable and trifling."  
― Yann Martel, _Life of Pi_X**

_"Mum? Aren't you going to read me a bedtime story tonight?"_

_"GO AWAY!" The lady shouted, scratching at her eyes and clawing at them with such terror that Arthur recoiled away. He had seen her do this multiple times. When she'd yell at her 'Angel' to stop hurting her. She'd tell him about Angel sometimes. He was kind. He was mean. He was murderous. _

_Him mum claimed he talked to her and only her. That she was special._

_Dad called her nuts, but Arthur just thought she was special too. Dad claimed to love her anyway. Even though she acted insane and would tear apart their house on certain days._

_But then she'd be fine. She'd be kind and loving and **sweet**, and no one would be able to tell Angel even existed. He would come, he would go. And Arthur never understood what this Angel guy was until she had passed away. Until she had killed herself and his father had to explain to him that she was crazy. That the medication and therapy hadn't worked._

_That she had done herself in because of Angel. Because of her 'illness' ._

_Then, she passed her 'crazy' to Arthur. He wanted to resent her for it, but never found the energy._

_His dad didn't even cry at her funeral._

_Arthur suspected he never had loved her at all, or as soon as she contracted the 'crazy', his love for her had vanished. _

_It was sad._

_And he hated it._

Review answers!

The Great Susinko: Yeah, thanks ^^ I try my best writing-wise. I only know about schizophrenia from reading a lot and it's kind-of how my mind thinks already, with all the negativeness and all. I hope you continue to like It and stuff. I also hope to set some people sort-of straight with how mental illnesses REALLY work.

Sora-Resi: yes we all must hug the personifications. We all must. All. Must. Hug. I mean, who wouldn't want to hug a big grumpy England? I know I would.

Culzean: oh Gilbert is always going to be the most awesome thing ever

Heather: sorry about that. It's me being lazy, I tell you.

Oh, and I need help. Should I make more PruCan interaction/smut in later chapters? Please tell me if I should~

And 'Angel' is the voice in her head. ^^

**TBC**


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